Memories
by Quicksilvermad
Summary: He has experience with someone who just gave up.


**_Disclaimer:_** All rights for _The Walking Dead_ go to Robert Kirkman and AMC  
><em><strong>Warning:<strong>_ Triggering conversation about suicide.  
><em><strong>Author's Note:<strong>_ I gave myself emotional whiplash going from the last thing I wrote directly into this one. On a completely serious note, I need to mention that I suffer from depression and have had some close calls with my own thoughts and actions regarding suicide. It's something I don't normally talk about because of how frightening the idea is, but when I come across a character that's suffering I can't help but empathize with him or her. I _needed_ to write this.

* * *

><p>Andrea side-stepped a dry twig just in time to avoid snapping it and caught her companion's half-smile out of the corner of her eye.<p>

"What?" she asked quietly.

"You're learnin'." Daryl said simply.

Andrea smiled and adjusted her gait to walk closer to him. The pair of them had covered a decent amount of ground whilst looking for Sophia. "Well, you're a pretty good teacher."

He snorted and shook his head.

"No, really. I've probably learned more about survival skills from you than any book could ever tell me."

"That's 'cause you're a city girl."

"Hey, at least I could set up a tent and fish. That's more than some of these people could do."

He tipped his head, conceding her point. "I never did get a chance to eat that fish," he muttered.

Andrea watched him wince and would have been mad that he brought up _that_ night if she hadn't seen him do so. She recognized the gesture from last night at dinner when Dale tried to pull him in for a one-armed hug.

And just like that, every smell, taste, sight, feel, and noise from the night the camp got attacked slammed into focus.

It was always stupid, mundane stuff that triggered these sense-memories.

She could be tying her sneaker and they would hit her out of nowhere and cripple her. Tears swelled in her eyes again and the feeling of loss and despair tightened around her chest to the point where she thought the grief alone would stop her heart. At times like this, Andrea wished it would.

"Just _end it,"_ she whispered.

Daryl abruptly stopped walking and fixed her with an intense stare. Andrea staggered backwards on reflex and he reached out to keep her from falling on her ass.

His hand was rough and warm against the thin skin on the inside of her elbow, but she didn't pull away from him. The sun, filtered through the gaps between the tree leaves, bore down directly on his face and illuminated Daryl's eyes to a pale blue color that Andrea hadn't quite been able to pin down until that moment. Her gaze nervously darted to the stitches at his temple.

The base fear that he saw darken her eyes made him let go of her, but he stayed inside her personal space. "Don't. Don't start with that."

Anger flared in her chest and she glared at him. "Does it really matter?"

The muscle of his jaw tightened as he ground his teeth and Daryl shifted his crossbow into one hand.

"Why'd she like mermaids so much?"

"What?"

"You gotta own this. That memory? It's gonna tear you apart, but only if you let it. Take some of the good stuff you remember and make it connect with that night so when this shit happens again your mind'll go to those good memories instead."

She stared at him while feeling like her heart was about to beat right out of her breast and carry on down the trail without her. Andrea had not seen Daryl this passionate about anything. Not even his brother.

"Come on. Why'd Amy like mermaids so much?"

Her voice cracked when she spoke. "How did you—?"

"I overheard Norman Thayer explainin' the necklace ta Wang Chi."

Andrea translated the names from "movie character" to "people I know" and came up with Dale and Glenn (and, really, that was the second time she'd heard Daryl reference _On Golden Pond_ and the third _Big Trouble In Little China_ crack). She sighed and thought back to that simpler time before the world descended into hell. In her mind's eye she saw Amy, nine years old, sitting too close to the television with a VHS of _The Little Mermaid_ playing in front of her. She'd watched that movie so many times that the tracking was off and lines scored the tape every ten seconds.

Unbidden, a smile started to curve the corners of Andrea's lips. "She watched _The Little Mermaid_ every day when she was little. I remember her telling me that Ariel was stupid for wanting to have legs just for a boy—that being able to live in the ocean was way cooler," she laughed, recalling another moment from her sister's childhood.

"She dressed up as a mermaid every year for Halloween."

Daryl started walking again and nudged her shoulder with his to get her moving. Andrea snuck another look at him through a veil of her own hair and saw that he was still clenching his jaw.

"It really bothers you, doesn't it?" she whispered.

He looked at her almost blankly and Andrea clarified. "Suicide. It really bothers you."

Daryl stepped around a fallen tree limb and bumped shoulders with her a second time. The affirmation to her question wasn't vocalized, but she could feel the tightness of his muscles in that fleeting touch. Whatever it was about suicide, that he thought it was cowardly or selfish, he'd made it very clear that he didn't approve at all.

As they walked together, finding their easy rhythm again, Andrea didn't expect him to answer her. Daryl's voice was small and raw when he spoke.

"My mama killed herself."

Just like that, every cell in Andrea's body went cold.

"Left me all on my own with my idiot brother an' that fuckin' asshole who dared her ta do it. I know shit was hard for her, but still…" he shook his head and wiped a hand across his face.

Andrea unconsciously copied the gesture to keep herself from crying. She knew better than to say "sorry" at a time like this. No one wanted to hear that empty phrase when they spoke of a loved one who was deceased. Hearing it from Dale or Carol about Amy made her angry enough to spit. So, instead of saying anything or asking Daryl to keep talking, Andrea reached down and laced their hands together. He didn't pull away.

"I barely remember her," he confessed. "I've got mental pictures of her face—I've got her eyes and her hair—but I can't remember how she smiled. I love 'er for the things I can recall, but sometimes… Sometimes I hate her for leavin' me an' Merle like that."

Andrea squeezed his hand and fought the urge to lean her head against his shoulder as they walked. Daryl seemed to appreciate the fact that she didn't say anything and he squeezed her hand right back. "I ain't gonna ask you ta promise not ta think about that shit no more, 'cause I know that's fuckin' unrealistic. But… Can you promise me you'll remember ya got _somethin'_ ta live for 'round here?"

His voice shook with the last few words and Andrea could see the naked emotion in his eyes when she looked at his face. Want. Need. Fear. It floored her and she stopped walking to turn her body and face Daryl head on. He nervously chewed the inside of his lower lip and was forcing himself to hold her gaze.

Carefully, Andrea drew her free hand up against Daryl's neck. His pulse throbbed steadily beneath her palm and he tensed when she rested her forehead against his. After a moment, he closed his eyes and slowly let out the breath he'd been holding.

"I promise, Daryl," Andrea whispered.

Daryl said nothing, but tightened the grip he had on her hand one last time before letting go. As she backed away, Andrea watched him nod and release his lower lip from his teeth. He cleared his throat and ran his hand across the nape of his neck.

"Alright," he rasped. "We should keep movin'."

They started walking again.


End file.
